We are now three days in to Girls Only Week here at There it is, Plain as Daylight! Today I review Mikase Hayashi’s March on Earth, a sweet two-volume series about a young teen raising her nephew alone after her older sister’s death. Don’t forget to check out this week’s earlier reviews, for volume six of Peach-Pit’s emotionally rich magical girl series Shugo Chara! and volume two of Yun Kouga’s shonen fantasy series Gestalt!
March on Earth, Vols. 1 & 2
By Mikase Hayashi
Published by CMX
When Yuzu’s parents died, it was up to her older sister to take care of her. Now that her sister has been killed in a car crash, only Yuzu is left to care for her sister’s two-year-old son, Shou. Determined to do for her sister’s young son what her sister did for her, Yuzu takes on this responsibility with her whole heart. Fortunately, she’s got a kind landlady with two sons, each of whom dotes on Yuzu and Shou (particularly the older son, Seita, who harbors a not-so-secret crush on Yuzu) so she is far from alone, no matter how bleak things might seem to Yuzu in the loneliness of night. Over the course of the story, Yuzu pieces together a family for herself and Shou, first with the discovery of the man who is Shou’s father and finally including the family who already loves her, regardless of the lack of blood relation. She also faces questions about her own future and whether or not her own dreams can exist alongside her commitment to Shou.
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Though much of the devastation that Hyakkimaru and Dororo witness is man-made (Dororo takes placed during the Sengoku, or Warring States, Period), demons exploit the conflict for their own benefit, holding small communities in their thrall, luring desperate travelers to their doom, and feasting on the never-ending supply of human corpses. Some of these demons have obvious antecedents in Japanese folklore — a nine-tailed kitsune — while others seem to have sprung full-blown from Tezuka’s imagination — a shark who paralyzes his victims with sake breath, a demonic toad, a patch of mold possessed by an evil spirit. (As someone who’s lived in prewar buildings, I can vouch for the existence of demonic mold. Lysol is generally more effective than swordplay in eliminating it, however.) Hyakkimaru has a vested interest in killing these demons, as he spontaneously regenerates a lost body part with each monster he slays. But he also feels a strong sense of kinship with many victims — a feeling not shared by those he helps, who cast him out of their village as soon as the local demon has been vanquished.
For folks who find the cartoonish aspects of Tezuka’s style difficult to reconcile with the serious themes addressed in Buddha, Phoenix, and Ode to Kirihito, Dororo may prove a more satisfying read. The cuteness of Tezuka’s heroes actually works to his advantage; they seem terribly vulnerable when contrasted with the grotesque demons, ruthless samurai, and scheming bandits they encounter. Tezuka’s jokes — which can be intrusive in other stories — also prove essential to Dororo‘s success. He shatters the fourth wall, inserts characters from his stable of “stars,” borrows characters from other manga-kas’ work, and punctuates moments of high drama with low comedy, underscoring the sheer absurdity of his conceits… like sake-breathing shark demons. Put another way, Dororo wears its allegory lightly, focusing primarily on swordfights, monster lairs, and damsels in distress while using its historical setting to make a few modest points about the corrosive influence of greed, power, and fear.




From the back cover:
From the back cover: